


Let Me Come Home (Home Is Wherever I'm With You)

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 7x07, Episode Related, F/M, Felicity hates the beard, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene Fic, Non-Sexual Intimacy, The Slabside Redemption, episode reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: Once in the bathroom, she gently coaxed Oliver into sitting on the closed seat of the toilet while she began to fill the tub, fetching all the towels the linen closet had to offer and setting out soap, a washcloth, and shaving items on the side of the bathtub. When Oliver clocked these, he raised an eyebrow at her, and she said, “I’m sorry, but that thing on your face has got to go.”





	Let Me Come Home (Home Is Wherever I'm With You)

The ride back to the house was long and quiet. Felicity and Oliver held each other’s hands as if their lives depended on it, fingers clasped together between them on the seats as Oliver dipped in and out of sleep, head lolling against her shoulder every so often. He was tired, he was hurt, and even now, even in the company of those who loved him, he still couldn’t seem to let himself rest. Not yet. 

Eventually, he did doze off on her shoulder, his weight heavy and uncomfortable, but for Felicity, it was a blessing from heaven itself. It was a reminder that he’s here, he’s really here. She let herself give into the sensation and sank lower into the soft leather seat, her hand coming up to cradle Oliver’s head against her shoulder, stroking lightly over his cheekbone and jaw. The car rumbled on, Digg staying silent for now and letting them have this, just the two of them. 

Now wasn’t the time to say everything that needs to be said. They just needed to be with each other.

When the car came to a halt, Oliver jerked awake, looking around in confusion - where was he? What happened? - and Felicity heard the way his breath sped up, wheezing slightly in his chest, as he tried to lunge for the passenger side door.

To escape. 

But she was faster, now, and knew the signs - even after months - and so she grabbed hold of his shoulders and held him fast with a cry of “Oliver!”

Eyes wild, his head whipped round, looking without seeing at the unfamiliar surroundings - and then at her. She smiled, a watery yet reassuring smile.

“Felicity.” Her name was like a prayer on his lips, his breath a sigh as it slowed down and came to a neutral rhythm once more. “Sorry. It’s - it was bad in there,” he began to explain, biting his lip nervously, pulling at the thin skin there. “Kinda hard to shake it off.”

Felicity shook her head. “You don’t have to, Oliver. You don’t have to explain anything to me, you know that, and not right now.” She reached for his hands, still trembling slightly, “I’m just glad you’re  _home_.”

Oliver nodded, tears shining in his eyes. “Me too. Me too. God, Felicity, I’m so  _sorry-”_

“Mm-hmm,” she protested, pressing one finger to his lips to silence him. “None of that now. Later.” She brought her hands to his face once more, kissed the tip of his nose. “Just let me take care of you first, hmm?”

The car door opened, and Diggle was there. With a deep breath, they climbed out, Felicity hot on Oliver’s heels, keeping one hand on his upper arm to ground him as they began the walk up the gravel pathway to the house. 

She looped her arm around Oliver’s bicep, squeezing him close as they inched slowly along together, Felicity going at Oliver’s pace because of his obvious many injuries, and besides, she wanted him to take his time. To feel the fresh air fill his lungs and feel the weak sun coming through the clouds on his face. 

Through the door, into the hallway, and Felicity immediately began to steer Oliver in the direction of the large, plush bathroom that the place offered - one of the things she hadn’t been expecting when John had initially brought them here. When Oliver looked at her quizzically, she explained, “You need to get out of those horrible clothes. And,” she leaned forward, sniffing, “you stink, baby.”

Unable to help himself, Oliver huffed a laugh, despite the fact that it made his ribs throb and his abdomen ache. “Thank you.”

Once in the bathroom, she gently coaxed Oliver into sitting on the closed seat of the toilet while she began to fill the tub, fetching all the towels the linen closet had to offer and setting out soap, a washcloth, and shaving items on the side of the bathtub. When Oliver clocked these, he raised an eyebrow at her, and she said, “I’m sorry, but that  _thing_  on your face has got to go.”

He shrugged. “I liked it.”

Felicity fussed with the taps, making sure that the water was hot but not too hot, so as not to aggravate her husband’s injuries, but also that the rising steam and immersive heat would relax him a little. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was tense, crossing and uncrossing his ankles, his hands not able to settle in his lap. “ _No_ , Oliver.”

He gingerly scrubbed at his face, wincing when he hit a particularly nasty cut on his cheekbone. “It is getting a little unruly,” he admitted. 

Felicity made a “hmm” noise of agreement in the back of her throat, now adding cold water to the tub and a tiny drop of lavender oil, something she’d picked up from her mom over the years. It was supposed to help soothe and relax you. The fact that the bottle was almost empty said a lot about how anxious and frayed Felicity had been these past few months.

The deep lavender scent rose with the steam, and she heard Oliver take a deep inhale of it, which made her lips curl into a small smile. That was good, it meant that he was starting to unwind. 

When she was satisfied, she stood back, holding out her hand for Oliver to take. “C’mon, then. Let’s clean you up.”

Oliver took her hand wordlessly, getting to his feet slowly and steadily, his eyes never leaving hers as she reached for his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. She flung first the ugly grey prison shirt, then the white long-sleeved shirt under it, both stained with blood and smoke, into a ball in the corner; when she saw the state of his chest, she gave an audible gasp and a whimpering moan, her hands coming to flutter over his skin like butterflies’ wings, absolutely horrified.

There were so many bruises. Some old and yellowish-brown, others brand-new and deep purple mottled with black. Cuts, grazes and gashes zig-zagged red across the already scarred expanse of his torso and abdomen. A long cut on his right side nearly cut the Chinese tattoo there in half. 

And there he stood, solid and resolute, as if nothing had even happened to him at all.

“Oliver,” she whispered, lowering her forehead to his chest, her eyelashes brushing his skin where they were damp with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Oliver bowed his head to press his lips to the top of her head, his fingers coming up to curl into her soft hair. His touch was gentle as he carded his fingers through the wavy strands. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured into her hair. 

“I do,” she croaked, shaking her head. “I should have fought harder, I should have done  _some_ thing-”

“Felicity,” Oliver’s voice was clear and firm. He gripped her wrists and gently pulled them apart so that they were facing each other, Felicity’s chin tipped up towards him where they stood. “You did all you could. And I will always,  _always_  be grateful for that.  _You did the best you could.”_

Though she wasn’t convinced - and that thought, that guilt, would continue to haunt her, until she and Oliver had had time to sit and talk properly through everything that had happened - she knew what he was trying to tell her.  _Not now. Don’t think about that now._

_I’m home._

In silence, she undressed her husband the rest of the way, pressing her lips together in a tight line to repress another gasp when she saw more bruises, more cuts and grazes, on his legs and feet. His hips and waist were much narrower than she remembered, the muscles more defined, his shape more angular beneath his clothes than when she’d said goodbye to him all those months ago. 

He let her guide him into the tub, a groan of satisfaction escaping his throat as he sank into the hot, aromatic water. The tub was big enough for him to fit almost completely head to toe, and he let his eyelids flutter closed as his head rested against the back of the tub, up to his chin in the hot lavender-smelling water. 

“Bet they didn’t have this at Slabside,” Felicity said wryly, reaching for a washcloth to begin cleaning the dirt and blood and sweat from her husband’s body. 

“No,” Oliver shook his head, sinking deeper into the water at his wife’s touch. “They didn’t. Most of the time the showers were cold, and somebody was usually trying to attack me in one.”

Felicity gave a sad smile, stroking her fingertips against his cheek. “Well, no-one is going to attack you here. You’re safe now, Oliver.”

She tried her best not to put too much pressure on the worst of the bruising, but he still flinched and hissed through his teeth as she drew the cloth across his chest and stomach, which made her blood turn cold in her veins. She hated this, hated what they’d done to him. She  _hated_  it.

Catching his fingers in hers, she held on as an apology as the water slowly turned from clear to a muddy grey, and Oliver’s skin turned pink and bright once more. He submitted completely to her ministrations, trusting her with his care, and every so often would make soft, breathy noises of contentment, the kind of happy sighs she hadn’t heard from him in months. She’d teased him, before, that he was a like a cat purring in the sun, and the image definitely fit as she watched the lines of his face smooth out, the tension in his jaw and neck release, completely at ease here, in this room, with her. 

Running the soapy washcloth over his face, his lips quirked into a smile as she reached the sensitive spots over his eyelids and his temples, almost laughing with the ticklish sensation but not quite, not yet. But he would with time, and rest. She was sure of that. 

Arching over him, abandoning the cloth, she grasped his cheeks and pulled him towards her in a deep, searing kiss, tasting warm water and soap. The angle was awkward, but the feel of Oliver’s lips on hers ignited a fire in her belly that she had thought had long since died out. His fingers came up to anchor her jaw and chin in a gentle cradle, his tongue slipping between her lips to lick around her mouth and taste her, like he was drinking her in after a long, long drought. The only sound was their own heavy breaths and the soft splash of water every so often, the space between them hot and heady as they came together, really together, for the first time in a long time. 

When they came up for air, there were tears on Oliver’s cheeks, and Felicity wiped them away with her finger, her wedding ring catching the light of the bathroom and shining, bright and sparkling, between them. Oliver caught her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers, resting the cool metal of her ring against his cheek for a single moment. 

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he whispered into the space between them. 

“Always,” Felicity affirmed.


End file.
